Unfortunately

The computer started off in my office. It was one of those open rooms that are connected to the living room to kind of extend both rooms, but not really. I kept all of my books in there, as well as the desktop computer that had followed me my whole writing career. It was a wonder it hadn’t broken down yet.

The office  used to be the perfect spot for me to write. It had just enough light and a wonderful view of the backyard garden that had survived the previous tenant of my small rented house.

Lately, however, I found myself distracted. I had added a wife to the house, and my wife had added a dog, and soon enough two cats as well. There was no shortage of hopefully wagging tails and loud meows and “can you help me with this?”-s. Not to mention all of the friends that my wife liked to have over at night, which used to be the best time of day for me to write.

It was on a night like that, with the living room full of laughing guests that I found myself moving the machine the first time.

“What are you doing?” my wife asked as I carried the monitor through legs and tails and oriental rugs that had I never agreed on.

“Just getting some peace and quiet,” I said in a tone of voice that I wished the guests would use but never did.

“Tell me if you want some of this wine later. Love you.”

I finally closed the bedroom door behind me. I’d set the computer on a small dressing table by the window in there, and was waiting for it to turn on when I put my elbow down next to the keyboard, and the whole setup tipped.

“Mother of -,” I started before looking down to figure out which leg was the culprit. Left one closest to me. Okay. There were some old newspapers in the kitchen. I could rip and fold some pages to make the table stable for now, and then I would really fix it once this deadline with my publisher had been met.

I tried not to make too much noise walking past the living room, hoping the guests wouldn’t notice me, and, god forbid, start talking to me.

I thought I was home free when I turned the corner into the kitchen, but unfortunately, my wife was standing there by the sink, filling a pitcher of water.

“How’s the writing going, love?” she smiled at me.

“Slow. Too slow. Actually, I’m not writing anything at all,” I replied.

“Oh, good, you can be my partner in Pictionary”.

That was it. I was trapped. No writing was getting done that night.

As the next night rolled around, I once again sat down in the bedroom. The table was no longer wobbling, and the guests were guests at someone else’s house tonight. The perfect scenario.

No sooner had I typed the first word than I saw a shadow walking around in our backyard. With a sigh, I got up from my chair and reached for a jacket before heading out the back door.

“Can I help you?” I called out to what now turned out to be a kid throwing around a ball by himself. He looked up at me with a frightened look on his face.

“S-sorry,” he muttered and ran off.

“Jesus, these kids,” I grumbled to myself as I turned around, happy to go back to my work. Finally.

But too late. Unfortunately, the dog had seen that I was out of the bedroom and was now staring longingly at the front door. I tried to call out to my wife, before realizing that she was not there.

“Well, I guess I’m walking you tonight, buddy,” I said as I accepted that no writing was getting done that night either.

The next day I decided to get away from any windows looking into the backyard. Instead I settled on the room where the only window looked into the small passageway between my house and the next.

Unfortunately, my wife had long ago claimed that as her hobby-room, and since there were no guests going anywhere tonight, she was busy sewing or embroidering, or whatever she called her favorite pastime. And even more unfortunate was that her second favorite pastime was looking over my shoulder and asking questions whenever she had the chance.

“What are you writing about?”

“I don’t know”.

“How can you write when you don’t know what you’re writing about?”

“I don’t know”.

“Am I in it?”

I stood up, and without even looking at my wife, I walked out of the room and picked up the car-keys from the key-bowl by the front door. I opened the door and pressed the unlock-button in the general direction of the carport. Then I went back into the room where the window faces the passageway and started gathering up the machinery, making sure I could get the whole computer out and into the car in as few trips as possible.

“Where are you going?”

I didn’t know.

I drove for most of the night, and when I finally settled on a motel that wasn’t too crummy-looking and where the person in the office didn’t ask unnecessary questions about why I wanted to set up a whole desktop computer in my room, I was so tired that I plopped right down on the bed and fell asleep, shoes and all.

No writing got done that night either.

I woke up late the next day, but there was still plenty of time left before prime writing-time, so I set out to explore the part of town I had ended up in. I had lived in that town for decades, but for some reason, I had never been to that part of it before.

I ended up in the bar next to the restaurant where I’d had my dinner, and unfortunately, an old friend from high school had been to that part of town before. He was there now. He bought me a beer. And then I bought us both beers. And then someone bought beers for the whole bar. I don’t remember exactly what happened that night, but when I woke up the next morning, I saw that it wasn’t writing.

That day I decided that I was not going to leave the room. I was going to be there alone where no one could bother me, and if I didn’t leave, I couldn’t accidentally end up doing something else, or run into someone I knew from back when I had time to get distracted.

I sat on my bed and looked back and forth between the old computer and the alarm clock for hours.

Finally, writing time was upon me, and I went to push the big POWER button, when I heard it. It was dull at first, but slowly it rose in volume. Someone in the next room over was yelling. Loudly. It was a man, and by the sound of it, a big one.

I tried to ignore him as best as I could, but then I heard a woman’s voice as well. Faint. She was crying.

“For the love of -,” I said as I pushed back the chair and headed for my door. Something smashed against the wall. I moved faster.

As I stood there in front of the door next to mine, I told myself that if it was locked, I had tried my best, but there was nothing I could do, and I would go back to writing. Unfortunately, it was unlocked.

“Whatchu think you’re doing, being so loud this late?” I yelled before I saw her. She was curled in a corner, blood oozing from a gash across her cheek.

“Jesus -,” I said and walked over to kneel next to her. “What happened to your guy?” I asked.

The woman was sobbing too hard to give me a verbal answer, but she pointed a shaky finger to the open window. Good. I didn’t really want to get beat up that night.

“Well, I guess I have to take you to the hospital now, don’t I?” I asked as I helped the shaken woman to her feet before leading her out to my car that was exactly where I had parked it two days earlier.

The hospital wasn’t too far away - I could have easily dropped off my passenger at the ER entrance and gone back to the motel to write, but now I was too wrapped up in this woman’s story. What if someone saw my car in the parking lot and thought, I did that to her and reported me to the police? Then I’d have to talk to them, and that would surely take longer than a little antiseptic and some glue at the hospital would.

No writing got done that night.

The next morning, I found myself sitting at the edge of my bed staring at the computer again. I could have no more distractions, I decided. None. And apparently, one can’t even get his fair share of privacy in a secluded motel-room. I thought that was what they were for. Privacy.

I decided to change my strategy. I needed to go somewhere where there were no people at all. No people, no dogs, no bars or ERs.

The desert. The desert was the most secluded place I could get to in less than 24 hours. And I needed to get writing now.

I loaded my computer back into my car and dropped off the key to my room in the office, making sure to tell the teenager behind the counter that he probably shouldn’t expect to see any money from the people that had been in the room next to mine. He took it well. He had obviously heard that before.

I got on the road quickly. It took me almost a whole day to drive far enough into nowhere for my liking, only stopping to pee and get gas. When I finally made it, it was late afternoon. There was nowhere, I could set up my computer, and nowhere I could plug it in, so I opted for the old fashioned way. Pen on paper. And then I would only have to type everything I had written later, which is easier to stay undistracted from.

I was sitting there, mind reaching for any good idea - any idea at all, really - notebook open, pen clicked, ready to go. Unfortunately, there was still cell phone service out there, because I heard my phone ringing from inside my glove compartment.

“Hello?” I said as I put the phone up to my ear.

“I sat here waiting for you all day -”. It was my publisher.

“What do you -”

“Our meeting. Today. 11 AM!” He was yelling. In my mind I could see his face red, the way it always got when he was angry.

“Well, unfortunately, something came up,” I tried.

“You’re lucky I love what you write. Come in, the day after tomorrow. 2 PM. I can give you an hour”.

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t have anything written”

“So? Write! You’re a writer, aren't you?”

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t know what to write about”.

“What to… I don’t care what you write about. Write about what you had for breakfast. Write about what you did today when you were too busy to see me - the one who makes sure you get paid. Hell, Ellen De-goddamn-Generes once wrote a whole standup show about procrastinating writing the show. Come up with something!”

“Okay, I guess”. I was mumbling.

“Oh, and hey,” it sounded from the other end.

“Yeah?”

“Stop saying ‘unfortunately’. I hate that word.” He hung up.

The day after tomorrow. I thought about it. That meant, I could spend that night in the desert, writing. But that wasn’t enough time. I had to find some other way to get back to my publisher’s office. A faster way, that would allow me to write the next night as well.

I pulled my phone back out of the pocket, I had put it in after hanging up, and opened the map function. Unfortunately, even though there had been cell phone service, no GPS signals seemed to be able to find me. I had to get closer to civilization for that, so I started up the motor of my car and began driving. Unfortunately, it takes a long time to get closer to anything when you’re in the middle of the desert. By the time my phone was able to locate itself, I was so tired that the second I stopped the car, my head fell slightly to the right, and I didn’t open my eyes again until the sun was shining directly in them.

I slowly found myself again, and looked around me. The notebook was still in my lap. The only word written on it was The. Great. I looked in the backseat and there was my computer. I thought about how I’d gotten there, and suddenly a sentence sprung into my head. It was just one sentence, but it was the start of something - anything. I wanted to write it down, but it wasn’t prime writing time, and I really had to start heading back to my publisher’s office, so instead, I opted to repeat it to myself over and over as I drove.

Unfortunately, I never made it to my publisher’s office. I had been so distracted by the words jumping around in my head that I hadn’t seen the truck that was passing too quickly in the far right lane as I tried to merge onto the freeway, apparently.

There’s plenty of privacy at the care facility I’m in now. It’s for people with brain injuries, so if I tell a nurse to piss off, she will. My wife visits sometimes, but it’s not a lot. She’s busy having guests over, or being a guest at one of her guests’ houses.

They let me keep my computer in here too, so now I can finally write. I can’t really use my left hand, because technically, my left arm is not attached to my body anymore, but you only need one hand and a good view from your window to type on a keyboard.

So obviously, writing is slow, but I was finally able to jot down the sentence that got me into this heavenly facility in the first place. I read it over and over.

The computer started off in my office.